A Mother in the Making (11 page)

Marjorie was his children's governess. Though she was gentle and caring, and his children had come to love her, she was also outspoken, unorthodox and impractical. She challenged him constantly and he had a feeling she didn't follow all his rules.

Marjorie stepped through the door and closed it quietly behind her.

The hallway was now completely dark and he could only make out her soft silhouette from the faint moonlight filtering in through the windows over the stairwell.

His heart beat an irregular rhythm and he had to swallow several times.

This was ridiculous. She was his employee and he had to tell her he was disappointed in her. He stood straight and spoke. “Miss Baker came to supper tonight.”

She wrapped her arms around her waist. “That's nice.”

“That's nice?” He wished he could concentrate on reprimanding her. Instead, he could only think about her curls and her beautiful voice as she sang to Laura. “You had no right to invite a guest to my home to dine with me.”

She was quiet for a moment and then she spoke softly. “I have a confession to make.”

He put his hands behind his back, suddenly unsure what to do with them. “What?”

“She's not the only woman coming to supper this week.”

“What?”

“Miss Addams and Miss Fletcher will also be coming.”

“But—why?”

She took a step toward him, and he pulled back. He could smell the lilac scent she wore and it made his mind a jumbled mess. Why was he responding to her this way? She was the governess. He must keep that in mind. She was no different than Miss Ernst or Mrs. Gohl.

“You said you're looking for a wife,” she said. “I thought each of them would be a good candidate.”

He stared at her for several moments, speechless in the face of her confession. “Don't you think I'm capable of finding my own wife?”

She didn't answer.

“Miss Maren, you hardly know me, yet you assume someone like Miss Baker would be a good match?”

“Yes, I do.”

“I just spent two hours in her company, and I can assure you she would not.”

She lifted her shoulders. “Now you know. If she hadn't come, you might wonder.”

“I could have told you before her arrival.”

She put her hands on her hips. “Dr. Orton, may I be so bold to say you don't know what kind of wife to look for?”

He crossed his arms, indignation rising in his gut. “No, you may not. I know exactly what I'm looking for. I wrote a list.”

“I did, too, as a matter of fact.”

“You wrote a list for my future wife?” He could hardly believe what she was saying. “What gives you the right to do that?”

“I care about your children—and you.”

She cared about him? He swallowed the rush of surprise that surfaced at her statement. “I appreciate your concern—”

She took another step toward him and put her hand on his arm. “I want to know that once I leave this home, you and the children will be in good hands.”

Her touch did strange things within him, and he had the urge to pull her into his arms and revel in more of her.

Guilt assailed him. Anna had been gone less than two months. How could he have these thoughts for another woman so soon? Surely these feelings were simply because he was tired and frustrated and lonely. Marjorie was a beautiful woman. Any man would notice.

He took a step back from the temptation she unknowingly presented. “We'll be fine.”

“I need to be sure.”

He ran his hand through his hair. “Trust me.”

“Please give Miss Addams and Miss Fletcher a chance.”

What were his other options? “I can't uninvite them—but I insist you and the children dine with us.” If he was going to entertain two women he didn't want to entertain, then at least he'd have his children present and enjoy their company.

She sighed. “As you wish.”

“And you are not allowed to invite anyone else to this home unless you have my permission. Do you understand?”

Another sigh.

“Miss Maren?”

“Very well. But what about Dora?”

“Dora and Mrs. Scott are always welcome, but again, it's not your place to invite them.”

“No, that's not what I mean.” She was silent for a moment, and when she spoke, her voice was a bit hesitant. “I was surprised to hear you invited Miss Faulkner to supper after Sunday's talk with Dora.”

Sunday's talk with Dora? What had he said to Dora that had anything to do with Miss Faulkner? “I don't understand.”

“The conversation you had with her in your office.”

“My office? How did you hear us?”

She glanced down and ran her slippered toes across the carpet. “I overheard while passing.”

“We talked about a medical conference I'm invited to speak at before Christmas. What does that have to do with Miss Faulkner?”

She lifted her head. “You didn't propose to Dora?”

“Propose?”
He couldn't hide the surprise from his voice. “Definitely not—and if you believed I had, why would you then invite another woman into my home?”

She opened her mouth, and then hesitated. “I thought maybe I could convince you to...keep your options open.” She smiled and grasped his arms. “But I'm so glad you didn't propose.”

Her touch was too much, and her joy at the revelation was too confusing. He pulled back and spoke in a harsh tone. “I hope we've come to an understanding. You will join me when the other two ladies come to supper—and you will not ask anyone else to come.”

“Fine.”

“Good night, Miss Maren.”

“Good night, Dr. Orton.”

John turned and strode down the hall to his bedroom. He almost slammed the door behind him, but caught it just in time.

He couldn't allow himself to dwell on Marjorie Maren, or his growing attraction to her.

The sooner he found a wife, the better.

Chapter Eleven

T
hree different dresses were strewn about Marjorie's bed as she buttoned up the fourth one she had tried on since church. Dr. Orton had told her to be ready to go for a drive at two o'clock, and it was now quarter to the hour.

Her hands shook as she readjusted the pins in her hair, once again. Why was she so nervous? She had been in the same home with the man for over two weeks now, and had just gone to church with him that morning. They had eaten lunch together with the children afterward. There was no reason for the anxiety she was experiencing.

A knock sounded at her bedroom door.

“Come in.”

The door opened and Dora poked her head inside. “Hello, Marjorie.”

The familiar face should have calmed her, but it had the opposite effect. Dora was here to take care of the children, which meant Marjorie was running out of time to prepare.

“A letter was accidentally delivered to our home yesterday.” Dora stepped into the room and extended the envelope to Marjorie.

A letter? It was the first letter that had come for her since she left Chicago. With shaking hands she removed it from Dora's grasp and scanned the handwriting.

Preston.

Why would Preston write? The last time they had spoken was the night before their wedding date. She had hoped he would kiss her and speak of love. Instead, he had spent the evening going over household accounts, his expectations for their servants and their social calendar. It had felt as if they were embarking on a business deal, and not a marriage.

After he left her parents' home, Marjorie had gone to her room and sobbed. She didn't want a loveless relationship. She wanted passion and romance.

The desire to flee had overtaken her, and she had not appeared at the wedding the next day.

“I hope it's good news,” Dora said. “You don't look very happy to see the letter.”

Marjorie forced herself to smile. “I'm just a bit surprised.”

“I'm going to tell the children I'm here now.” Dora squeezed Marjorie's arm. “I hope you have fun this afternoon.” With that, she left the room.

Marjorie's legs felt wobbly, so she sat on the edge of the bed and slowly lifted the flap of the envelope. What would Preston say? Would the letter be filled with scathing words—or would he plead for her to return?

She almost laughed at the second thought. Preston Chamberlain would not lower himself to beg.

That left only one possibility.

She lifted the letter from the envelope and unfolded the paper. He did not address her, but simply started to write.

Where does one begin a letter such as this? I have felt every conceivable emotion in the two and a half weeks since you left me at the altar. I have asked myself a thousand questions, but the ones I cannot seem to find an answer to are: Why did you do it? And why did you wait until the very last second? I've thought through every conversation we had, and cannot fathom what went awry. Clearly I did nothing wrong, so that leaves me to believe it was a fault within you.

The newspapers have had a riot with this thing. Do you understand how embarrassed my family is? I am angry that you jilted me, but furious that you put them through so much pain. What about your own family? Have you no heart?

When I heard you went to Minnesota to be a governess, I couldn't believe my ears. What in the world would possess you to give up me for such a common life? You had a chance at being someone, Marjorie. I should have known you wouldn't follow through with your promise. You never do.

As far as I'm concerned, you had your chance at being a Chamberlain, and now you are simply a common laborer, lost in a sea of faceless strangers.

Marjorie lowered the letter, tears blurring her vision. She had expected him to be angry, but had not anticipated how hurtful he could be.
I should have known you wouldn't follow through with your promise. You never do.
Was he right? Had she left him because she wasn't capable of sticking with something until the end?

No. She shook her head. She had left because it was the right thing to do. It was better to walk away than to be saddled in a marriage without love.

The hall clock struck the hour.

Marjorie shoved the letter back in the envelope and placed it under her mattress. The last thing she needed was for someone to discover why she had run away from Chicago. She wasn't prepared to answer all the questions that would arise.

With one last glance in the mirror, Marjorie grabbed her coat and left her bedroom.

She descended the stairs and found Dr. Orton pacing in the front hall. When he saw her, he stopped and watched her cross the room.

She started to put on her coat, but he took a step toward her.

“Let me help.”

She handed the coat to him, her hands still trembling from Preston's letter. “Thank you.”

His hand brushed her chin as he slipped the coat on over her shoulders, and their eyes met.

He quickly took a step back. “Dora has the children on the third floor. Are you ready?”

Marjorie swallowed and buttoned up her coat. Why was she acting so silly? Her nerves increased with each button she secured. “Yes.”

He nodded and then strode to the back hall.

She followed behind, slipping on a pair of gloves to keep her hands warm during the cold automobile ride.

Dr. Orton held the door open for her and she passed into the backyard. A fine layer of snow covered the brown grass, but the warm sun shone overhead, keeping the streets clear.

They walked to the Ford on the stone path, Marjorie in front of Dr. Orton. When they arrived at the auto, he opened the passenger door for her and she sat on the cold leather seat.

He closed the door and then cranked the car to start. It rumbled to life, jostling Marjorie until she began to giggle.

Dr. Orton got into the Ford and glanced in her direction, a smile on his face. “What's so funny?”

Nothing, really, but her nerves were starting to get the better of her.

This was ridiculous! She stopped giggling and forced her face to become sober. “Nothing.”

He gave her an odd look and then put the auto in Reverse. “I thought I would start by taking you to the falls in the river.”

“All right.”

They drove for several blocks in silence, past the courthouse and the library, past the downtown businesses, closed for the day, and past the stately post office with its large stone pillars. The Mississippi flowed sedately just ahead as Dr. Orton turned left and took the automobile down a small incline.

The falls were dammed behind a massive concrete structure, but water still flowed through the gates, crashing down on the bedrock below.

“This is one of my favorite places in town,” Dr. Orton said as he parked the auto. “I often come here when I need to think or...pray.”

Marjorie couldn't take her eyes off the powerful water. It mesmerized her as it danced over the spillway. It was so whimsical and yet—practical. The dam offered electricity to the entire town and powered dozens of industries along the river.

“Dora mentioned a letter arrived for you,” Dr. Orton said. “I was wondering when you might hear from someone back home.” He repositioned himself on the front seat and turned toward her. “I've been meaning to ask you about your family and life before you came to us. I really know very little about you.”

What could she tell him, without giving away too much information? The newspapers had been very unkind to her, making up all sorts of tales about why she had jilted Preston. If Dr. Orton believed the lies, he would think her a terrible human being.

Maybe it was better if she didn't tell him anything about her engagement. He would have questions she wasn't prepared to answer, and he might go digging for more information. If he read some of the stories that had been reported, he might make her leave, and she couldn't have that. Not yet, not before she had found him a wife and completed her job.

“There's not much to tell. I grew up in Chicago. My father is a banker and my mother a socialite.” She tried not to sound bitter. She loved her parents, and she supposed they loved her. They were simply the product of their social class, and she a disappointment to them. She had tried her whole life to please them, to fit into their world, but it went against her nature. Jilting Preston was simply the last disappointment in a long line of failings.

“How did I not know you before?” He studied her with his handsome brown eyes, and she had to look away. “You said you were my mother's neighbor?”

The water continued its fight for freedom around the dam gates, and then it tumbled southward on a path to the Gulf of Mexico, a course marked from the beginning of time.

“We moved to our home when I was ten years old, after you had left Chicago,” she said. “Your mother became like an aunt to me and your younger brother, Paul, like a cousin.” She smiled, thinking about Mrs. Orton.

Dr. Orton had her eyes.

“I'm not clear as to why you left Chicago,” he said. “Do you truly want to go to California to be an actress?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Why?” There was no censure in his voice, just curiosity.

Would he understand? “I want to become a movie actress so I can bring happiness into other people's lives.”

He studied her, his eyebrows dipped low. “What do you mean?”

She sighed. “Sitting in a movie theater, you're transported to another time and place. You forget your troubles, even if for just a little while, and you get to experience a happily-ever-after—even if you will never have one of your own.”

“Of course you will,” he chided her, but his concern softened the lines on his face.

She didn't want to talk about matters of the heart with him. “Even so, I want to bring that type of joy into people's lives.”

“Marjorie.” Dr. Orton put his hand over hers. It was the first time he had said her name. “You don't need to be in the movies to bring that type of joy into people's lives. You've already done so in my children's lives.”

His touch sent wonderful sensations flowing through her and caused her mind to wander down a path filled with romance—but he wasn't interested in romance. He was only interested in practical things, just as Preston had been.

She pulled her hand away. “Thank you.” She swallowed and looked back at the dam. “That's why I'm going to California. Just think how many more people I could impact.”

He must have sensed her reluctance to continue their conversation, because he pulled away from the dam and didn't say another word about her past.

* * *

For over an hour, John drove Marjorie around Little Falls. He brought her past White Pine Lumber Company, home to the largest lumber mill in the world, and north to Belle Prairie, where the Belle Prairie Mission had once stood proudly on the banks of the Mississippi. He even drove her to the ruins of old Fort Ripley. He told her about the history of the area, and about the people who had shaped Little Falls into the thriving community he had joined ten years ago as a young man, just starting out on his journey.

She sat quietly, listening to what he said, but he felt as if she were miles away in California, or maybe Chicago. Her revelation had surprised him—but enabled him to see inside her heart, a place he didn't realize he longed to go until he was there.

“Would you like to see the hospital where I work?” he asked.

She tore her eyes from the scenery of the countryside. “Is it safe?”

“Safe?”

“Will I be exposed to influenza?”

“Are you taking your cinnamon oil?”

She scrutinized him. “Do you really think it works?”

“I do. I've had great success with the treatment. That's why I've been asked to talk at the medical conference in Minneapolis.”

“You're going to talk about cinnamon oil?”

He waved at a former patient outside a small home as they drove south toward St. Gabriel's Hospital. “Among other things, yes.” He paused for a moment. “I've also been asked to talk about my own personal loss.”

She was quiet for a moment. “Is there medical benefit to discussing Anna's death?”

His chest felt heavy with the reminder of his wife. As the days had progressed, and he had been preoccupied with his patients and with Marjorie's misadventures, he had kept the pain at bay. It was moments like this that it felt raw, like a fresh wound still bleeding. “At first I didn't think so, but then the conference director wrote a letter, explaining how my personal experience can help the other doctors feel more empathy toward their patients.”

“Don't they have empathy now?” Marjorie asked. “I imagine all of them have been overwhelmed with loss. How could they not feel empathy?”

They drove through the downtown once again, this time going past the music hall and bank square. “Some have become desensitized to the loss. The director hopes my story will cause them to soften their hearts toward their patients' plight.”

The sun sat low in the pale sky, illuminating Marjorie's curls. “Are you ready to talk about Anna's death?”

Was he? Did it matter if he wasn't? Life had forced him to move forward at a rapid pace. Three months ago, he would never have thought he'd be searching for a new wife—yet he was. He didn't think he'd be invited to speak at a prestigious medical conference, about a disease no one really understood—yet he was. He hadn't anticipated sitting in his Model T with a beautiful young woman, who set his pulse racing in a way that made him feel as if he was somehow being unfaithful to his marriage—yet he was.

“I don't think I'll ever be ready to talk about Anna's death, but I'll try.” He stopped for a pedestrian to cross the street. “Dora has said she'll come to the house to help take care of the children while I'm away—if you want her to.”

She didn't say anything for a moment. “You said the conference is right before Christmas—just a month away. Do you think you'll...?” Her words died away.